Soul Mates
by Leave it at that
Summary: Everyone grows up hearing the story of soul mates, and every child wakes up one morning to find two small letters tattooed somewhere on their body. Molly Hooper wishes she could give up on her soul mate, but one Christmas Eve spent remembering Sherlock and John's love story just might lead her to her own happiness.


**AUTHORS NOTE:** Hello all! Just a word of warning, this story doesn't have a beta- and as I am a believer that there is more than one way to spell a word, there are bound to be mistakes. Feel free to point them out- I promise I won't be offended (I'm a big girl). Also, I don't own Sherlock (Duh!)

* * *

"According to all the old legends, thousands and thousands of years ago mankind was lost. People roamed the earth searching for that one person who would complete them. Most people never found that special someone." Her daddy said as he tucked her into bed.

Five-year-old Molly Hooper didn't like this part of the bedtime story. She always wanted everyone to be happy. How sad it must be, never knowing for sure who was you one true special love. Hugging her pillow she interrupted, "But then came Luna, right Papa!"

"Yes sweetheart, then came Luna." He sighed and continued, "Luna was an old princess, who had given up on finding her one special love. Then one day, she was riding her horse through the wilderness outside of her castle and she heard a voice. It was the voice of an angel. So, Luna got off of her horse and climbed the tallest tree that she could find, ripping her pretty jumper on all of the branches."

"What color was the jumper? Was it purple, like my favorite color?"

"Yes, she ripped her pretty purple jumper. But she finally made it to the top, where she met an angel and she listened to his song about love. The song was so beautiful that princess Luna started to cry. Suddenly the angel stopped his singing and looked down at the sad little girl.

'Why are you crying princess?' he asked.

'I will never find my love of my soul, like you were singing about,' she sobbed.

'My poor child,' the angel said, taking pity on Luna. 'I will give you a hint.'

And with that, he took his staff and touched her gently on the forehead. Then, magically the letters PO appeared on her palm."

"Right here, Daddy?" Molly pointed to her left palm with her right finger.

"Right again, Molly-bear. Do you know what happens next?"

"Yes, Papa, next the new prince comes to town. He was brave and strong and handsome, right? And he had a beautiful voice, and he was singing, and Luna was so clumsy that she fell out of the tree, right? But she was ok, right? He caught her, so that she didn't get a boo-boo. Not like the kind I did when I fell out of the tree at Nana's, right?" She pointed to her skinned knee.

"Yes."

"Then the prince says that his name is Phillip O'Brien, and Princess Luna looks at her palm and sees PO. Then he looks at his palm and sees a moon, which means Luna. Then they live happily ever after in their big, big, castle because they found each other."

"That's right, Molly. The End. And because they were so happy, the angels decided to give everyone else little hints so that they would be able to find their own soul mates."

"That's why you and mommy love each other sooo much. You both have the angel tattoos." Molly yawned.

"Yes, and one day you will find your own soul mate and live your own happily ever after."

"Papa, I'm sleepy. Can I find my soul mate tomorrow?"

"No," her father chuckled, "you can't find him until your older, much older. You have to stay my princess for a little while first."

"I like being your princess." She gave him a wet, sleepy kiss on the cheek.

"Goodnight Papa."

"Goodnight, Molly-bear. I love you."

And with that, Molly fell asleep dreaming of her very own handsome prince.

* * *

**_Twenty something years later- Christmas Eve_**

It had been a long time since Molly had believed the legends that her father told her as a child. She was a woman of reason and science. She knew that the tattoos were just one of the more elegant aspects of evolution, a part of an individuals DNA, which, around the age of six or seven, began coding for specific melanocyte formations. These heavily pigmented cells gave the impression of a tattoo, but in reality they were quite different from an ordinary dermal ink injection. The size, location, and letters of the tattoo were coded for in a person's genome, so everyone's tattoo was unique. Many researchers had spent careers'- lifetimes'- studying the 'soul mate sequence' but a lot was still a mystery.

For Molly personally, she had gotten the mark on her hip- two elegant capitol letters. She had been so happy when they finally came in (as a late bloomer she was the last girl in her class to get her tattoo.) She ran up to her Mom and Dad's room- laughing happily at the initials she already recognized.

Sadly, Molly Hooper was now over thirty, and still no soul mate. No happy ending, even though her Papa had promised. It was not that Molly particularly minded being alone, but after seeing how happy a soul bond could make people; she didn't feel at all guilty wanting some of that happiness herself. Alas, it seemed that another year was ending and Molly was still single. So she climbed the steps to 221B alone.

"SHERLOCK, how may times do I have to tell you not to keep your bloody experiments on the same shelf as the food? If you are going to keep a bloody head in the freezer, I don't want to find stray hairs in my food. It is unsanitary and disgusting. Why do I even put up with you?"

"Because I'm your soul mate. Now do hush, John. I am working on composing a piece for Mrs. Hudson as a Christmas treat- you know how sentimental she is. Plus, I forgot the shopping."

"I bought her a gift from both of us, and you can probably just look at it and tell me what I bought."

"I don't even have to look. I can tell by the faint smell of cinnamon and vanilla, as well as the particular thump of the package when you set it on the table that it is a candle from the boutique she likes. Plus, you got her a different scent last year, and you are horribly predictable."

"I'll give you horribly predictable, Sherlock Holmes." Molly could hear John sauntered lazily across the flat, and then there was the unmistakable sound of kissing.

"Honestly, John. We have guests. Can't you tell that Molly is waiting outside our door listening to our conversation? She has been for the past few minutes now."

Molly heard the footsteps, and then the door creaked open to a smiling John Watson. He beckoned her inside.

"Hullo, Molly-luv. You're a bit early for our party."

"I know, but my Christmas shopping was done early, so I hoped it would be ok to just come instead of going all the way back to my flat. I heard you yelling and I wanted to make sure that you two weren't fighting."

"No, don't worry, Sherlock is just being his usual, moody self. Hasn't had a good case all week. Hopefully father Christmas will bring him a nice new murder because he is getting on my last nerve." John chuckled.

It had been two years since Sherlock had 'died,' and a few months since he had been reborn. Their love story was one of the most hauntingly beautiful things that Molly had ever witnessed. She was absolutely sure that if she had not seen their journey played out over the years that she would no longer believe in all of the silliness of soul mates and the marks.

* * *

_It had all started in her lab. A much younger Sherlock was working on a case when in walks John Watson, looking for a flatmate. Sherlock, being his annoyingly brilliant self, strips the man down; an army veteran, a doctor, psychosomatic limp, and an alcoholic brother who had broken his soul bond. Molly loved watching his mind work. Then in typical dramatic fashion, Sherlock sweeps out of the lab saying, "the name is Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221B Baker Street."_

_Molly heard Dr. Watson's quick inhale of surprise. Evidently Sherlock heard it too because he peaked his head back in. _

_"I wouldn't worry that your soul tattoo is SH. You seem very secure in your heterosexual identity- it's merely a coincidence." Then with a grin, he popped back out again. _

_John had turned to Molly in utter disbelief. Soul mate tattoos were considered immensely personal, and it was a major faux pas to ask to see someone's tattoos or wonder what the letters were and where on the body they appeared._

_Molly couldn't help but laugh, John seemed to be rooted to the spot by shock. _

_"Yes, he's like that all the time. But he is absolutely brilliant, so I put up with him being insensitive and obnoxious."_

_"But how did he know, about everything? About my tattoo?"_

_"Well, he just observes people. He can tell if I've gained two bloody pounds. You get used to it though." She chuckled, "so was he right? Because he can be a bit overconfident."_

_"I don't have a brother, but I have a sister named Harry, Harriet actually. Everything else he was spot on."_

_"Well, you will have to ask him how he figured it all out. So are you going to go to Bakers Street?"_

_"You know what, I think I am."_

* * *

A knock at the door broke Molly from her reverie. Mrs. Hudson had finished her errands.

"Hello, Molly. Happy Christmas."

"Happy Christmas, Mrs. Hudson."

"How are the boys treating you? Sherlock been shooting any walls lately?"

"No, thank heavens. I think Sherlock as calmed since he and John finally figured each other out."

"You know I was just thinking about the day they met. Sherlock being brilliant. John being impressed."

"Oh, yes dear. And do you remember all of their fussing about, pretending to be just flatmates. John nearly took my head off when I suggested that they would only need one bedroom. Silly boys."

"Yes, John was always very clear. I'm not his date." Molly imitated John's tone of outrage.

"What- I was convinced I was going to meet a lovely girl named Sue Hicks or Samantha Henry." John interjected from the kitchen. He walked into the living room with a glass of wine for each of the ladies.

"Oh, yes dear," Mrs. Hudson mused, "you never believed that you would end up with our Sherlock. Do you remember that one night you had a date with that Sarah girl? Sherlock was being all fussy because he needed your help with the case."

"Yea, the blind banker case," John remembered, smiling. "He had the audacity to tag along on our date. I told him, 'You can't be here- I'm trying to get off with Sarah!' I might have said it a little too loud though. Next thing I know, he is deducing poor Sarah, telling me that she has the initials KP on her ankle, so she is obviously not my soul mate…" John paused.

"Then he told me that I was going about this whole soul mate thing the wrong way. I needed to confirm the names of the girls before I decided that they were worth my time, and his case time by extension. He said 'Why do you care so much about soul mates? It's just a few letters; you don't have to listen to them. Honestly, John, if you really believed all that business you would better off as my date.'"

"I never understood why you turned such an alarming shade of red." Sherlock commented from his position on the sofa.

"Well, you did ruin my night. I never did 'get off' with Sarah."

"Which was obviously my plan all along, the case needed your attention."

"Oh, Sherlock, you were jealous!" exclaimed Mrs. Hudson.

John laughed at the scowl on Sherlock's face.

"Saving…. Time…" Sherlock mumbled to himself.

* * *

Half an hour later the party was in full swing. Sherlock had even changed out of his dressing gown when John asked, something Molly knew that he would only do for John Watson. She had only really seen Sherlock truly evolve twice in all of the years that she had known him. The first time had been when he had met John, and the second time had been when he jumped off of the roof of Barts Hospital.

_Sherlock had asked for her help the day before, telling her she counted. Then he had hatched his plan, countering Moriarty's moves as a master chessman would, strategizing fifteen moves in advance. He knew that he had to die; Mycroft had told him of the assassins that had moved into London. John would be a target, but not quiet, mousy Molly. Somehow, she was always overlooked. _

_The night that he had jumped, Sherlock stayed at her flat. She had patched up a bruised rib as well as a fractured wrist. As she was cleaning an abrasion on his left upper quadrant she saw them, a few letters scrawled in a messy yet manly font. JW._

_She looked up into Sherlock's face. "It's him isn't it?"_

_"I do not do sentiment, Molly."_

_"Sherlock you just threw yourself off of a building to protect your friends; to protect John Watson. You can't get much more sentiment than that."_

_"Maybe you're right, but what does it matter now? Sherlock Holmes is dead." _

_And with that, he rose from her couch, kissed her farewell on the cheek, and disappeared into the night. _

As Sherlock played his violin for Mrs. Hudson, Molly lapsed back into thought. In her mind, she always though of the period after Sherlock 'died' as London's dark ages. Murders went unsolved, she was guilt-ridden from keeping his secret, and John Watson was utterly heartbroken.

_A few weeks after the fall, she had met John for drinks at a local pub. It was the first time she had seen him since the funeral. She was incredibly nervous about keeping Sherlock's secret, even if the rational part of her brain knew exactly why she couldn't tell John that Sherlock was alive. _

_By the time she got to the pub, John was already more than a few pints in. He was sitting quietly, staring at the divots in the wooden counter. As Molly took the barstool beside him, he looked over at her forlornly. _

_"I'm a coward, Molly." He hiccupped. "SH, S bloody H. Then he goes and jumps and it's my fault. I never told him. I never said SH was Sherlock. It was always bloody him. And now he's gone, and I'm empty. Empty, Molly. He had to die before I would stop being such a bloody wanker. SH. My bloody soul mate." He banged his fist on the counter for emphasis, but lost his balance in the process and slipped off of his stool._

_"Alright John, lets get you home. That's right. Everything will be better soon," she soothed, slinging her arm under his so that he could lean against her. _

_"But now I will never know. Why, Molly? I knew he wasn't a fake. He was the best man I ever… I loved… gone… now I'm alone." _

_He started crying softly as they walked through the London streets. Molly stopped and sat with him on an abandoned bus bench. They sat in silence for a few minutes as John regained control on his emotions._

_"John it's not your fault." Molly broke the silence. "Sherlock loved you in his own peculiar way. You know that. He loved you more than anyone."_

_"Yea… maybe that's true. But he loved himself more. If he had really loved me, he couldn't have jumped." He paused, "I'm sorry, Molly, but it is just too painful. I need to be alone." _

_He stood up, boarding the bus that had just arrived and vanishing into the night._

_If he had glanced back at Molly, he would have seen the silent tears dripping down her cheek. She waited until the bus was long gone before responding.  
"No, John, he jumped for you."_

* * *

It was one of Molly's least favorite memories. She had felt terribly guilty for weeks. After Sherlock's return, John had quickly forgiven her, but she suspected that his forgiveness had more to do with the fact that he was blissfully happy over Sherlock's return.

_It was a Friday night, two years since Sherlock had left. John had stopped by the lab to pick up Molly. They were going to get a bite to eat and talk about Sherlock. John had told her a few months ago that his therapist had been encouraging him to face the memories of his dead friend instead of bottling everything up. He was doing much better. _

_John had popped out to use the loo while Molly hung up her lab coat. Suddenly the doors came flying open and in stalks Sherlock, coat upturned, scarf slung casually around his neck as if the past two years were all a dream. It had been surreal for Molly, and she had known he was alive._

_"Its finally finished. The last of Moriarty's network had been dismantled."_

_Molly hadn't had time to squeak before she heard another door open and John Watson ran into the room, pants only halfway buttoned, chasing Sherlock's voice. _

_"Oh. John. I didn't expect for you to be here. Well, close your mouth and button your pants, we have a lot of cases to catch up on. I am surprised my brother hasn't let England fall completely apart in my absence."_

_Molly watched, frozen, as John walked slowly towards Sherlock, as if he would spook him with any sudden movements. _

_"Sherlock?" His voice sounded small._

_"Short version. Not. Dead." Sherlock smiled. _

_The smile was too much for John. He threw himself at Sherlock, punching him hard in the face. _

_"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON? YOU WERE DEAD! YOU HAD NO PULSE! I MOURNED YOU! NO! I DON'T BELIEVE THIS! YOU…. BLOODY… PRAT!"_

_John had managed to tackle Sherlock, and he was still hitting him. They were both on the ground, John practically sitting on a prone Sherlock trying to find any exposed part of Sherlock to punch. Molly ran towards the brawling pair when unexpectedly Sherlock grabbed John's head, pulled down, and pushed their mouths together in the most amazingly romantic kiss that Molly had ever seen outside of a television screen. _

_"Had to protect you. I'm sorry, John." Sherlock whispered when they finally broke apart. _

_John didn't seem to care, as he was already kissing Sherlock again. Molly smiled, turned, and left the lab as quietly as possible._

* * *

Sherlock's solo came to an end, and he returned his violin to it's case. He gave Mrs. Hudson a kiss on the cheek then settled himself on the couch with his head in John's lap. His partner immediately threaded his fingers through Sherlock's hair. Molly gazed at the pair, the jealousy that she had felt earlier bubbled to the surface again. She wanted her own Sherlock. Obviously it couldn't be Sherlock exactly- her tattoo wasn't SH, but that hadn't stopped her from falling slightly in love with his intelligence, his confidence, and his cheekbones. But she wanted her Sherlock to be a bit less inclined to chase murders and shoot walls out of boredom. Sadly, no man like that had ever existed.

_Snap out of it Hooper. For all you know, there is no soul mate waiting out there for you. Maybe you are supposed to be alone. No use crying over it. Somebody's got to be the crazy cat lady. _

There was a knock at the door, which pulled Molly back to the present. It was odd, as the Christmas party was almost over. It was well into Christmas morning and most of the guests were getting tired. Molly usually left the party around eleven, but this year she had been so wrapped up in her soul mate ponderings that she hadn't realized the time.

Standing in the doorway was an older, polished gentleman who was leaning on an umbrella. She thought he looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn't say where she had seen him before.

"Mycroft. What are you doing here? Come to wish me a happy first Christmas back at 221B?" Sherlock called from the couch, not even bothering to open his eyes.

Molly looked more closely at the newcomer- so this was the infamous older brother. Molly had never met him, but from all of the complaining that Sherlock and John had done over the years, she had compiled a mental picture of Mycroft as a stodgy, frail, balding, old man who walked with a limp and bore a resemblance to her great uncle Alfie. The man in front of her, however, was nothing like that. He was handsomely grey, lean without being 'Sherlock skinny,' and impeccably dressed.

"I just was in the neighborhood and thought I'd stop by 221B. I talked with mummy today. She sends her love."

"Mycroft, at least stay for a drink. I'll introduce you to everyone," John said.

"No need, I already know most everyone."

With that he walked directly over to Molly.

"Miss Hooper, I don't believe I ever thanked you for helping my brother."

Sherlock interrupted. "It's Dr. Hooper, brother, honestly. You must be slipping on more than just your diet."

"Or Molly," she interjected, not wanting Sherlock to get too carried away.

"Molly, then." He didn't smile, but she could see a small twinkle in his eyes that wasn't there before.

"So, brother, been causing any wars lately? I know how you love a good border skirmish around Christmas time."

"How have you been, brother? Your blood coagulation experiment is pointless. Why John continues to indulge you I will never understand, but a full head? What's next, a body on the counter? I don't think it would really make a good centerpiece. Face it brother, you need your cases, and I need my political drama."

"Yes, I forgot how much you abhor legwork," Sherlock mocked.

"Who wants to run around getting shot?"

"Cardio, Mycroft. It keeps me from getting fat and old like you."

Mycroft was about to answer when someone's laughter caught his attention. Molly Hooper was giggling, trying to contain her mirth but failing splendidly.

"I'm sorry," she said in between chuckles. "I've never seen you two together." She kept laughing. "How is he fat, Sherlock?"

"Molly Hooper, do stay out of this," Sherlock scowled.

Something shifted in Mycroft. It was almost like was frozen, staring at Molly.

"Well," said Molly. She was starting to feel uncomfortable. "You two sound just like my brothers, always ragging on each other. I just never…" she blushed. "I should be getting home. Happy Christmas everyone."

Molly stood up to leave, saying her goodbyes to the remaining guests. Mycroft was still staring at her like she was a puzzle that he couldn't quite figure out; it was unnerving.

_Chill Hooper! It's not you he is staring at, even if you wish it were. He's probably married. Or gay. Or both. You have spent too much time thinking about soul mates tonight. It's got your head all fuzzy. Just try and walk out the door and down the stairs without making a fool of yourself. Good job. Now start walking to the tube. That's it. And stop thinking about Mycroft Holmes… Mycroft… Holmes. Mycroft… M. Holmes…H. Molly… M. Hooper…H. WHAT! _

Just as she was about to enter the tube station, a black town car pulled up. A well-dressed woman got out and walked over to Molly. Without glancing up from her blackberry, the mystery woman said, "if you could please come with me, Dr. Hooper, my employer would like to talk with you."

Molly had heard John complain enough to know just who would be waiting for her when she got into the car. Taking three deep breaths she tried to calm her nerves, then she followed Anthea.

* * *

Back at 221B all of the guests were gone, and Sherlock and John were still on the couch. After Molly had left, Mycroft seemed to come out of his frozen state, and he followed after her, tossing his goodbyes over his shoulder as he left the flat. Sherlock then put his hands under his chin- indicating that he was going to his mind palace.

It used to annoy John, but ever since Sherlock had come back, he liked to just sit peacefully and watch over him. John spent the time memorizing every line on Sherlock's face. He really was striking. Then, Sherlock's eyes popped open.

"Of course!" He sat up.

"What?"

"How could I not have seen it? It was all right there, right in front of me. MH, John, MH!"

"What? Mycroft? I thought you told me he didn't have a soul mark."

"No, I told you that he was his own soul mate. When we were younger we both showed each other our marks, and his was MH. Since he didn't seem to like any girls or boys, we both assumed the MH was his initials."

"Well that makes sense. I mean, who would love Mycroft?"

"The only other MH we know."

"Who?"

"Molly Hooper."


End file.
